Bad Luck Always Comes in Twos
by Ravenclaw's Glen
Summary: Awkwardness ensues when Dean comes to spend Christmas at the Burrow in Harry's 6th year. All Harry wants for Christmas is to have a conversation with Ginny without feeling the need to kick himself afterwards. All Dean wants is Harry-free time with Ginny.
1. Lunch, with a Side of Prat

HARRY/

The journey to the Weasley's was longer than Harry remembered, but he and Ron passed a good amount of time with several rounds of exploding snap. They abandoned this pursuit, however, when a particularly explosive deck set the sleeve of Ron's robes on fire.

"Lucky it didn't get the sweater," said Ron morosely, looking as if his heart wasn't quite in his words. He plucked at a piece of fuzz on the edge of the golden "R" emblazoned on the maroon sweater that Mrs. Weasley had given him last year.

"Why are you wearing it anyways, Ron?" asked Ginny, who had just appeared in the doorway. Harry's stomach seemed to flip over.

"I reckon if I show up in it, mum'll be in a better mood," Ron muttered gloomily. "I can't really afford to have any more angry women on my hands right now." Ginny snorted.

"Oh yes, Ron, you have all the girls in Hogwarts seething over your very existence," she scoffed. "I had forgotten that you had such a strong pull on the emotions of women." Ron looked angry.

"It's nothing to joke about! I've still got the scars from Hermione's bloody bird attack!" He waved his forearms around in demonstration, and then turned to Harry. "Back me up, Harry. You saw it!"

"Er…" said Harry, slightly taken aback.

"Fine," said Ron, looking put out. "When _you_ know what it feels like to be hated by half the female population…" he trailed off, crossing his arms. Ginny caught Harry's eye and grinned.

"It must be difficult, enduring the misguided anger of others, right Harry? One day maybe you'll sympathize." Harry's reply was cut short when another boy appeared in the doorway of their compartment.

"Trolley's down by us, Gin, d'you want anything?" asked Dean Thomas, one of their fellow Gryffindors.

"Sure," said Ginny, squeezing his hand. "I'll be right there." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and Harry had the sudden urge to slam the compartment door.

"All right, Harry?" asked Dean, looking into the compartment. Harry realized that he had been making a somewhat hostile expression.

"What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Hey, Dean." He attempted to smile, but stopped rather quickly, as it was almost painful. Ron, oblivious to the situation, uncrossed his arms and looked interested.

"I'm starving. The trolley hasn't been down here, yet," he said. "I'm coming, too." He made to stand up, but Ginny quickly pushed him back down.

"I don't think so, Ron," she said. "When we want a side order of prat with our lunch, I'll let you know, though." Dean grimaced apologetically, backing out of the compartment. Ron, however, attempted a dignified expression.

"Women," he said simply to the area at large, nodding sagely.

"Right…" said Dean, confused. Ginny rolled her eyes at him as if to say "don't ask." And with that, they were gone, Ginny pulling Dean down the corridor by the hand. The compartment door closed with a bang, and Harry, lost in thought, jumped a little. A wave of the subtle, floral scent of Ginny's shampoo washed over him, no doubt blown in when the compartment door closed. This did nothing to help his reeling head. He mentally shook himself. He was going to have to prepare himself or spending the two weeks of Christmas break in her constant presence in the cozy Burrow.

_And Dean's_ a voice in his head reminded him. He felt his heart sink. Dean had been invited too, of course. McGonagall had spoken to the Gryffindors when the sign-up sheets for the train went up: in these dangerous times, anyone from a non-wizarding family might be safer at a magical home, which could be given better protection. Mrs. Weasley had immediately invited Dean, much to Ginny's delight, and much to Harry's annoyance. Under normal circumstances, Harry and Dean were good friends, but ever since Dean had started dating Ginny, Harry found himself liking Dean less and less.

"What a git," said Ron, looking out the compartment door.

"Yeah," agreed Harry absentmindedly, not bothering to look. He didn't want to see Dean and Ginny snogging in the corridor at the moment.

"You didn't even look," said Ron with amusement. "Malfoy just bullied some first year out of his cauldron cakes." Harry looked blankly at him.

"Aren't you a prefect?" he said.

"Oh! Right," said Ron. "I'd better go and tell him off then." He stood up awkwardly to avoid colliding his head with the luggage rack, and slid the compartment door open. "Oi! Malfoy!" he yelled. Harry scooted closer to the door so that he could see what was happening in the corridor. Halfway to another train car, Draco Malfoy turned around with a look of annoyance on his pale face. Harry noted once again that he looked almost sickly lately. Remembering the exchange he had heard between Snape and Malfoy on the night of Slughorn's Christmas party, Harry almost felt tempted to follow him back to his compartment again. However, given how that had turned out the last time, and busy brooding on Ginny and Dean, he contented himself with watching.

"Yes, Weaselby?" drawled Malfoy. "I'm afraid I can't let you share my compartment, if that's what you're going to ask."

"Why would I want to share your compartment?" asked Ron, bewildered and irritable.

"Because Potter's reminiscences of his filthy mudblood mother are probably getting a bit old by now," he sneered. Harry stood up, reaching for his wand as he exited the compartment to stand beside Ron. "Ah, look," said Malfoy, "The dynamic duo. Where's your mudblood friend? Hiding from the nasty Death Eaters? Probably wise." Ron's curse hit Malfoy square in the chest, and he doubled over, wheezing.

"Careful, Weasel," he said, straightening up quickly. "You wouldn't want Hogwarts to have to send an owl to your mummy to tell her that you've…what was it…'put another toe out of line,' now would you?" He turned to leave.

"Hold up, Malfoy," said Ron, gaining confidence. "You're not leaving until you give that kid back his food," he said.

"Oh really," drawled Malfoy. "Fine, then." He opened the door to a nearby compartment and dropped in the cauldron cakes. Harry caught a glimpse of a group of terrified looking first years before the compartment door slammed shut again. Ron looked taken aback, but Harry felt suspicious.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" he asked, gripping the holly and phoenix feather wand tighter.

"Nothing that concerns you, Potter. Although, of course, it is your honor-bound duty as the 'Chosen One' to go strutting about, making everything your business. No, I simply wanted to do something right by Weasley." Harry stepped slightly in front of Ron to prevent him from doing anything stupid.

"What does that mean?" asked Ron, the volume of his voice rising steadily and dangerously.

"It means that at least you'll have the happy memory of my great kindness to look back on after the Death Eaters have murdered every last member of your blood-traitor family. Starting with your dumpy mother, right down to you, and then your mudblood girlfriend." Draco's eyes glittered maliciously as Harry stepped even further in front of Ron, who had raised his wand.

"Ron, don't be stupid, he's done this before," said Harry, even though his ears were ringing. Malfoy sensed that he had hit gold and continued.

"Oh, and of course, I can't forget your little whore of a sister, going around with every boy that will have her. Lucky that she's at least nice looking, or the stench of your mother's hovel would end all her chances forever."

Harry froze, rage coursing through his entire body.

"Maybe they'll save her for last; Greyback has always liked the pretty ones," he said vindictively, smirking at Harry. "What's the matter, Potter? Do you fancy her? I forgot that the Potters had an unfortunate habit of marrying filthy red-heads. Your father did it first, and now you're having a go—" Malfoy's eyes widened slightly as he was hit by three curses simultaneously. He crumpled to the floor where he lay, unmoving. There were a few seconds of silence.

"D'you reckon we just leave him here?" asked Ron, sounding hoarse. Harry felt his head jerk in a noncommittal sort of way. He stood, staring at Malfoy on the floor, wondering if the Cruciatus curse would affect an unconscious person.

"Harry," said a voice behind him. He turned around to see Ginny, the source of the third curse, who put her hand on his shoulder. "Harry, I'm so sorry," she said. "Just forget it, you know he just does it to make you angry." Harry's mind felt curiously blank.

"I'm fine," he said numbly, staring at a spot above her head.

"You're not," she said. "You're shaking like mad. Come on." She gripped his arm and led him back into the compartment. "Leave him, Ron," she said, for Ron was still staring at Malfoy's unconscious form. "He's not worth the trouble." Ron turned around and came back to the compartment, where he sat down heavily. Harry wished that Ginny hadn't heard Malfoy's words. As he thought this, the sentences swam in his head, making him feel sick. He put his head in his hands, staring at the floor. Ginny crouched down next to him.

"Are you okay?" she asked. He turned to look at her. Concern filled her deep, brown eyes as she swept a few strands of red hair behind her ear and looked at him.

"Malfoy insults my parents all the time. I'm used to it," he said. Ginny looked confused.

"Then why are you so angry?" she asked. Harry felt anger rise up again in his chest.

"Why aren't _you _angry?" he asked. "You're the one he threatened with Greyback, you're the one he called a—"

"A whore, yes," said Ginny, her eyes hardening. "Of course he's one to talk, with all the girls he's snuck around with behind Pansy's back," she said.

"What girls?" asked Ron. She ignored him.

"So why aren't you angry?" Harry asked bluntly. She rolled her eyes.

"Of course I'm angry, Harry. Why do you think I cursed him? But in case you didn't notice, all of those insults were actually directed at you."

"No they—"

"He had a go at me because he knows we're close," she said impatiently. "You don't see him hurling jibes about Lavender Brown or Professor Binns, do you?"

"I would've defended Lavend—"

"Yes, we know Ronald, you are the great defender of the people," she snapped. "Anyways, it's over now. They're empty threats. Just learn to ignore them," Ginny finished, placing a hand on his arm. He felt his stomach perform the familiar somersault, and realized with a brief stab of annoyance that his half-deranged emotions were at least returning to normal.

"You sound like Hermione," said Harry, but stopped, seeing the look on Ron's face.

"In that case, you know I'm right," she said with a half smile, standing up. "Oh Ron for heaven's sake just apologize to her," she said, before leaving the compartment again, taking care to step on Malfoy's stomach with more force than was really necessary.

"Apologize?" said Ron defensively. "I don't need to apologize for _anything_. I wasn't the one who sent bloody canaries on her just for being in love." He turned to Harry, who shrugged. Malfoy's words still lurked in the air, and he tried to force them away as he helped himself to a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. The sun had set outside, and the sky was drizzling a mix of snow and rain, which trickled down the windows of their compartment. Harry popped a jelly bean in his mouth and watched the progress of the slush on the windows. Ron had fallen silent too, probably thinking as well.

_"Maybe they'll save her for last" _he heard Malfoy's voice say again in the back of his mind.

_Over my dead body,_ he thought. But still, that oath couldn't stop Malfoy's words from tasting as sour as what he now realized was certainly a vomit-flavored jelly bean.


	2. The Totem Pole

"Harry, you're butchering those carrots," Ginny said the next morning, taking the knife from him. The cold stopped at the frosty windowpanes, but the winter sunlight filled the kitchen of the Burrow.

"I thought that was the general idea," said Harry, massaging his aching neck and squinting as he watched her finish the last two carrots with ease.

"Obviously you've never seen mum when she has house guests, then," said Ginny, sweeping the last of her perfectly sliced carrots into a green ceramic bowl. She flashed a smile at him and wiped her hands on her jeans.

"Technically I _am_ a house guest," said Harry, grinning back. It was so easy to fall back into an effortless routine with Ginny, even though they had different friends at Hogwarts.

"I think that she counts you as family now, so you don't matter any more" Ginny responded with mock-seriousness. "Dean's the top of the totem pole now," she said, crossing the kitchen to where Dean was sitting, reading the _Daily Prophet_. Mrs. Weasley had been popping in from time to time to ensure that he wasn't lifting a finger, something that Ron had commented on jealously until Mrs. Weasley informed him that, if he didn't want to do work, he could go back to Hogwarts straight away with just a pinch of floo powder. Ron hadn't said anything, but Harry had the distinct impression that his best friend would rather belch slugs again than miss Christmas supper at the Burrow. It was shaping up to be quite the dinner, Harry noted as he glanced around the kitchen, which was crammed with colorful bowls of food in various states of preparation. Harry turned around from the food and immediately wished he hadn't, for Dean and Ginny were sharing a kiss at the kitchen table.

"Oi! Ginny, you've got something on your mouth," said Fred Weasley, turning the corner into the kitchen with George, his identical twin.

"Yeah, just there," said George, indicating his mouth. Dean and Ginny broke apart.

"What do you two want, then?" asked Ginny, irritated.

"Besides a pretty girl and a bottle of firewhiskey?" asked Fred, stroking his chin.

"We just wondered if anyone needed anything from town,"

"Seeing as you lot are all stuck here, what with you being younglings,"

"And with Harry having a bunch of blokes wanting to do him in." Ginny frowned, pondering.

"Bring back some butterbeer," she said. "We'll need it after mum's done critiquing our vegetable cutting. Speaking of, how did you two get out of helping _again_?"

"I think that mum has finally acknowledged that having us out of the house is far more helpful than having us in it," said George ruefully. "Ah well, we'll get over it somehow. And where is ickle Ronniekins?" he asked, looking around.

"He and mum are de-gnoming the garden again," Ginny said.

"Ah, his favorite," said George, cracking a smile. "Ready Fred?"

"Ready, George." And with that they disapparated with a crack. Dean yawned and stretched, setting down the _Daily Prophet_.

"Are you sure that I can't help?" asked Dean, glancing around for Mrs. Weasley. Harry had to give him credit for trying, but he knew from experience that Mrs. Weasley had an uncanny habit of turning up whenever one of her rules was being disobeyed.

"I think we're almost done," said Ginny, glancing around. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was cut short by a throaty voice that called from down the hall.

"'Arry!"

"Damn," murmured Ginny, slipping out the back door. Dean looked nonplussed as Fleur Delacour swept into the room, seeming to glow subtly with the same winter sunlight that filled the kitchen.

"'Arry! Eet 'as been a long time!" she said, kissing his cheek. Harry decided that it would be pointless to remind her that he had been at the Burrow with her only months ago, and was saved from this anyways, as Fleur had just noticed Dean.

"And zis must be Dean," she crooned, and Harry took a sip of water to stop himself from laughing at the expression on Dean's face. "Bill tells me zat you are little Ginevra's lover!" Harry made a funny gurgling noise as he choked on a bit of his water, but Fleur ignored him. "Zat girl 'as a temper, but zis is not a bad thing. She could be French! I 'ave always said zis." Dean gaped, openmouthed.

"Er…yeah, she's really great," he said, glancing at Harry with raised eyebrows.

"—And zis is good news for my little sister, Gabrielle, for she 'as always liked you, 'Arry, but we thought zat you and Ginevra were togezzer!" She laughed and tossed back her silvery hair, oblivious to the fact that the atmosphere in the room had become very awkward. "Well, I must go and assist Molly with ze bedclothes," she said with distaste. "I just wanted to see you, 'Arry! And of course it ees a pleasure to meet you too, Dean. I will tell Gabrielle zis good news!" And with an airy wave, she vanished down the corridor again. Dean turned to Harry.

"I think I've figured out why Ginny disappeared," he said, chuckling weakly. Harry grimaced. The awkwardness had not flounced out of the room with Fleur, and, seeking a distraction, he turned back to the counter, seized a tomato, and began to slice it.

"Harry?" said Dean, with the air of someone testing the waters. Harry paused, took a breath, and turned towards him. They both spoke at once.

"Look, there's nothing goin—"

"Ginny told me about Malfoy—"

They both paused.

"Sorry, you go," said Dean.

"No, no, I was going to tell you about Malfoy, too," said Harry, breathing again. This was not, of course, what he had been about to say, but there was no reason for Dean to know that. Dean continued.

"Yeah, she told me about him. And I was wondering….you don't reckon he'd actually hurt her, do you?" When Harry didn't answer immediately, he continued. "I mean, I know it's just Malfoy, but he's gotten nastier and nastier every month this year, and I heard Seamus say that you reckon it was Malfoy who gave Katie Bell that cursed necklace." He broke off, looking worried. As much as Harry wanted to tell Dean that Ginny could take care of herself and that he should shove off, he couldn't bring himself to. He sighed.

"I don't know," he said, running his hand through his hair and leaning on the counter. "I mean, you're right, it's Malfoy, but I've got a bad feeling about him. I think he's in deeper with Voldemort—sorry—than the Order wants to think. It's perfect, right? No one suspects him because it's just Malfoy." Dean looked worried.

"What…you think he's a Death Eater or something?" he asked. Harry couldn't make out his tone, but he figured, given Ron and Hermione's reactions, that it was probably skepticism.

"Look, I know it sounds mental," he started, but Dean cut him off.

"No, actually, it sort of makes sense. Malfoy's gotten worse with his threats, people are being cursed right under Dumbledore's nose, it _has_ to be someone no one honestly suspects, right? He's always been a foul git, but I reckon everyone's pegged him as the badge-making, heckling type and not the—"

"Seriously evil wizard type, yeah," said Harry, turning back to the tomato.

"Ginny's coming back," said Dean quietly, looking out the window, where Ginny could indeed be seen making her way across the snow-dusted ground. Dean cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Uh…Harry," he said, looking at the table very intently. "There….there isn't anything between you and Ginny, is there?" Harry froze, willing himself not to turn the color of the tomato in front of him.

"Never," he said, not meeting Dean's eyes. He hoped that this answer would suffice, and it seemed to, for Dean nodded his head. Harry had meant it in the past tense, but now, he thought, as he tried to slice the tomato as evenly as possible, it sounded rather like a blunt finality.

—

AN: Thank you for the lovely reviews! The next chapter will be longer, and there will be more happening in it, and more humor as well.


	3. Peas All Around

By late afternoon, the Burrow was beginning to smell extremely pleasant. There was a turkey that Harry was quite certain must have been subjected to a powerful engorgement charm, as well as a large treacle tart, which he had had to stop himself from sampling multiple times throughout the day. Everyone was in good spirits, even the frazzled Mrs. Weasley, who allowed Dean to help set the table with Ginny. By nightfall, all was ready. When Fred and George had returned with the Butterbeer, as well as several oddly shaped parcels that they ignored questions about, the Weasleys, Fleur, Harry, and Dean sat down at the table to eat. Harry sat sandwiched between Ron and Bill, and he talked happily with them as he loaded his plate with a variety of foods, some of which he had never seen before, even at Hogwarts. There was a large, red sliced fruit that he couldn't think of a name for, as well as a bowl of jumping peas that seemed determined to exit their container. They talked between mouthfuls, their subjects mainly ranging from school to Bill and Fleur's upcoming wedding. Harry had the impression that no one was really interested in the second subject, with the exception of Fleur, who seemed able to relate it to a variety of other subjects that they tried to talk about.

"Ah, oui! I was just saying to Bill zat we should of course offer food, but I will not have Molly do ze cooking because all zis food would be too 'eavy! Our guests will not be able to dance!" She gave a silvery laugh and helped herself to what Harry recognized as Bouillabaisse. Mrs Weasley gave her a cold smile and cut into the turkey rather violently. Ron grinned at Harry, who stifled a laugh and busied himself with the delicate operation of spooning some of the jumping peas onto his plate. It was difficult work, and he discovered that it was easiest to use his other hand as a shield over the spoon.

"Harry," said Ginny from across the table, and he looked up. Several peas escaped and launched themselves across the room, one striking Dean in the nose, one splattering spectacularly against Harry's glasses, and the other ricocheting into the darkness of the hall with an ominous whizzing sound. There was silence for a moment.

"If I do say so myself, Harry, you're looking rather a-pea-ling tonight," said George, raising his glass to Harry. There was uproarious laughter from Ron and his brothers. Harry joined in, but he also had the impulse to knock himself out with the nearest blunt instrument. Ginny was laughing too as she wiped the splattered green pea off of Dean's nose. Bill took Harry's glasses and cleaned them with a wave of his wand, and Harry turned back to Ginny.

"You were saying?" he said valiantly, as Ron continued to chuckle next to him. Harry stepped on his foot.

"Actually, I was wondering if you could pass the peas," she said, laughing at the expression on his face. Harry put his hand firmly over the top of the bowl of peas and passed them over to her. Bill turned to Harry next, a difficult feat given the cramped table.

"So I hear that you're looking to become an Auror after Hogwarts," he said interestedly.

"Yeah, I am," said Harry, nodding.

"That's a tough job to get," said Bill. "But then again, if we have a decent ministry by the time you're ready to join up, I can't see them not letting you in."

"Well, it's a little early to be thinking about that anyways," said Mrs. Weasley, looking concerned. "And there are many other worthwhile jobs without the mortality rate." Harry saw Ginny pause with a spoon of mashed potatoes halfway to her mouth.

"But it can't be that high," she said, looking at Harry. "I've never read anything in the _Prophet_ about an Auror being killed."

"That's because you haven't been alive during a seriously dark time yet," Bill said. "Things are only just starting up, believe it or not. We still have control of the ministry, at least for now. Last time half the office was wiped out." Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.

"And on that cheery note, let's talk about something _not_ related to Harry's impending death for once, shall we?" said Fred, grinning at Harry.

"I reckon that's been a constant topic since our first year at Hogwarts," said Ron. "Well, second, I guess, it took us a bit to figure out that you-know-who was really trying to do him in."

"Ah but what did Harry have to worry about second year," said Fred. As if on cue, the twins began to make a list.

"—Besides filthy great snakes"

"—Gilderoy Lockhart"

"—Speaking to pythons"

"—Posessed diaries"

"—And love letters from Ginny." Dean dropped his fork, and he slowly bent over to pick it up. Ginny reddened, and Harry was reminded forcibly of the singing Valentines card from their second year. Harry prayed that Ron wouldn't say anything, but apparently it was not Ron that he needed to worry about.

"I am sorry?" asked Fleur, looking from Ginny to Harry. "Why is Ginevra writing zese letters to 'Arry if she and Dean are togezzer?" Ginny had now succeeded in turning the color of a tomato, and Harry was attempting to memorize the design of the tablecloth.

"Ginny had a bit of a thing for Harry when we were younger," Ron said. "But she got over it." He shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"Yeah, it was back before Harry's wild pea-flinging phase. He used to be quite the catch," George said, nodding at Harry, who grinned in spite of himself. The rest of the dinner passed without incident, and eventually, well-fed and happy, they cleaned up the table. Fred and George disappeared for a moment and returned with their lumpy parcels, which turned out to be large bundles of a new type of low-flying fireworks from their premises in Diagon Alley. The fireworks were designed to be able to be used near muggles without notice, for they were silent, and wouldn't rise above the trees. Mrs. Weasley brought out a large blanket, and they huddled together on the frosty ground, watching and making the appropriate sounds of appreciation as the fireworks hovered and burst, only feet above the ground, into purple stars, golden mist, and twinkling white lights. After a time, the group reluctantly returned inside for bed. Harry was to sleep on the couch, which he didn't mind at all, as it was large, squashy, and very comfortable. He would ordinarily share with Ron, but seeing as Fleur's belongings had taken up half of Ron's room, as well as the room that she would be sharing with Ginny, this was not really practical.

"See you, Harry!" called Ron from the stairs.

"G'night Ron," he answered, fluffing a pillow on the couch and flopping down on it. He interlaced his fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling, thinking. A minute or so later, Dean passed by to go up to his own room. Harry had the distinct impression that Dean avoided his eye, but he couldn't be sure.

_Well, you did hit him in the face with a pea, _he thought to himself. The rational side of his brain sounded remarkably like Hermione, he thought with amusement. it could have been worse, after all. It could have hit Ginny. He grinned, rolled over onto his side, and drifted off to sleep.

—

AN: Thanks again for the reviews, guys! They really do help. I'm cranking this one out as fast as I can, and I hope that you're enjoying it! I'm trying to keep everyone in character as much as possible. The next chapter will be up soon, I believe! Possibly even later today.


	4. Whose Room is it Anyway?

An hour later, Harry lay awake on the larger sofa, listening to the light snores of the enchanted mirror on the kitchen mantlepiece. He had woken up after an odd dream in which Dean, having been chased by giant, bouncing peas down a muggle street, was made to live with the Dursleys for breaking the Statute of Secrecy. The mirror grunted slightly, and Harry thought vaguely that he was glad that he had encountered it before, or he would have been very alarmed. The first time he had visited the Weasley's house, right before his second year at Hogwarts, the mirror had instructed him to tuck his shirt in. Other memories of that summer came flooding back, as well. A flying car, Dobby and the pudding, Ginny…

_Oh not again, _complained the rational side of his brain. Harry ignored it. As discussed at dinner, Ginny had been so nervous around him that summer that she had all but refused to speak in his presence. If he had just talked to her, maybe things would be different now.

_Don't be stupid, _he thought. _You were twelve. And she was just Ron's little sister. _Harry quickly found himself at war with himself once more.

_She's with Dean. You missed your chance. _

_Did I ever even have a chance?_

_'Course you did, she fancied you for almost four years._

_But I liked Cho…_

_Exactly._

Harry swore internally. _Women,_ he thought, finally on the same page as Ron. But no matter how much he tried to justify himself, women didn't seem to be his problem, as much as he wished they were. Looking back, he could now enumerate the amount of situations that he could have changed to grow closer to Ginny. The Yule Ball, for one. She hadn't been with anyone yet, and she had gone with _Neville_ of all people. And now she was with Dean. Annoyance twisted in the pit of his stomach. Dean wasn't that special. He could draw. Big deal. Loads of people could draw. Maybe if Ginny realized that other people were good at drawing…

Harry stopped dead in his musings, unsure of whether to laugh out loud or hex himself. Ginny wasn't dating Dean because of his drawing abilities. And if he, Harry, thought that he was 'more special' than Dean because he had been subject to a series of unfortunate, dark circumstances, then he was just as bad as Draco Malfoy, prancing around his manor. Harry rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, thinking darkly that, if he suffocated in his sleep, Ginny would at least come to his funeral and perhaps cry. He took a deep breath into the pillow. He could almost see Ginny rolling her eyes at him.

_You sound just like Ron, _she would tell him.

"Shut up," he groaned into his pillow.

"Harry?" came a whisper from the room behind him. Harry's eyes flew open, and he rolled over. He reached for his glasses and slid them on. This proved fairly pointless, as the room was almost pitch black but for a weak ray of moonlight illuminating the mantle. He didn't need to see, however, to know who was there.

"Whasthematter?" he whispered blearily into the darkness. He was apprehensive; Besides Hagrid and the flying Anglia, Harry couldn't remember ever having been disturbed in the night by anything that hadn't boded ill.

"Sorry, were you asleep? I thought I heard you say something, but I can't see anything," said Ginny. He could just make out her form in the darkness, hovering tentatively by the door to the living room.

"No, I was awake actually," he admitted, grimacing. "What's up?" he asked feebly. He needed some sort of professional help, he thought as his stomach performed a series of complicated acrobatics.

"I was wondering, actually," said Ginny, hesitating slightly, her voice sounding odd, "I was wondering if it would be okay if I shared this room with you? There's two couches," she said unnecessarily, gesturing to the large and obvious couch across from Harry's. Harry's stomach stopped flipping. In fact, he was quite sure that it had fallen out altogether.

"Aren't you sharing a room with Fleur?" he asked, and immediately wanted to kick himself. It was dark, maybe she wouldn't notice. Ginny hesitated again.

"I was. Fleur decided to share with Bill instead, so I moved in with Fred, George, and Dean. And now…" She trailed off. Her voice still sounded strained, and Harry suddenly had an appalling realization. She was crying. He had the urge to both hug her and to run away, which resulted in a funny sort of spasm that he once again prayed that it was too dark for her to see.

"'Course you can sleep in my…I mean…your room….it's your living room, I mean. Not mine. It's….er….sure." he finished weakly, reconsidering suffocating himself with his pillow. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough for him to see the bemused expression on her face. Shaking her head, she grabbed a pillow from the nearby armchair and curled up on the couch. In the faint moonlight, Harry could see her red hair glimmering slightly.

"Thanks, Harry," she whispered quietly. She took a deep breath, and Harry could tell that she was still crying. Harry hesitated, not wanting to spew nonsense at her again, but he felt an ache settle in his heart. He had never seen Ginny cry, except for when her brothers left on the Hogwarts Express when she was ten, and, of course, after her ordeal with the Chamber of Secrets. He got the feeling that she didn't cry often.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a low voice, simultaneously hoping that she had miraculously fallen asleep, and wishing that she was awake.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," came her faint answer. They lay in silence for a few minutes. Harry thought that she had fallen asleep, and began wondering what could possibly have happened to make her cry in the last few hours. She had been perfectly cheerful at dinner.

_It's none of your business, so don't ask, _he told himself. _You'll just say something stupid and make her miserable. Let Dean talk to her._ He felt a plummeting sensation at the thought.

_What if she doesn't want to talk to Dean about it? I've known her longer…_

_She still won't want to talk to you. She probably thinks you're mental now. Let her talk to Dean._

_I don't want her to talk to Dean._

_Tough luck for you, then. She's happy with Dean, and there's nothing you can do about it._

_I just want her to be happy._

_With you…_

Harry couldn't reasonably argue with that. He rolled over onto his back and finally succeeded in his attempts to sleep.


	5. A Frothy, Frosty Morning

It was early when Harry woke up the next morning. He didn't see a clock anywhere, but the light that seeped in through the windows was watery and pale, and the house was quiet. Ginny was still asleep, curled up under a quilt on the sofa. A strand of red hair fluttered in the light breeze of her even breath, illuminated with the subtle golden glow of the morning sun. Harry watched her for a moment, not particularly feeling the desire to move. Dust was glimmering in the pale sunlight, and it floated lazily around Ginny's sleeping form. She really was extremely pretty, Harry thought. A creak on the stairs brought him back to his senses, and he rolled over onto his back to avoid looking like a stalker. He needed to snap out of it. If Sirius could see him now, he would probably be appalled. Sirius had, Harry knew, been effortlessly handsome and suave in his own days at Hogwarts. Sirius would probably not stoop so low as to watch girls sleep. Well, perhaps he would, but not because he had an emotional attachment to them.

_Sirius never would have had this problem_; _girls were obsessed with him,_ Harry thought with annoyance as Ron entered the room and did a double-take. He looked from Harry to Ginny, and then slowly back to Harry with a suspicious expression on his face. Harry scrambled up off the couch and dragged Ron outside before he could say anything.

"Harry—"

"I didn't do _anything,"_ said Harry. "She just came downstairs last night and asked if she could sleep on the sofa. What d'you reckon I was supposed to say? It's not even my house!" He appealed to his best friend, who looked torn between confusion and amusement.

"So she actually moved, then? I reckoned she'd just gone to sleep," said Ron, looking back at the house. His breath exited his mouth in frosty puffs.

"Yeah, she came downstairs pretty late," Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"How did you hear it, though?" asked Ron.

"Well, she talked to me for a minute," said Harry, confused.

"No, I mean, how did you hear it from all the way downstairs?" Feeling as though he was missing something, Harry's brow furrowed.

"Er…hear what exactly?" he asked. Ron looked around, as though to make sure that they were alone.

"Well," he said, "Ginny and Dean sort of had a row last night. I could hear it through my wall." Ron squinted and rubbed the back of his head, looking uncomfortable.

"About what?"

"Well, about you actually." Ron looked at Harry, gauging his reaction.

"What?" Harry wracked his brains for an answer. Ginny and Dean had fought about him…but what was there to fight about?

"Well, er, Dean reckons….I guess he reckons that you and Ginny have something behind his back." Ron was staring pointedly at a wispy cloud, and Harry gaped at him.

"_What?"_ he said again. Ron looked a little relieved.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I mean, she's my sister! It's not like you would just go running around with her behind my back..I mean, behind Dean's back….right." He looked as if he was reassuring himself as well.

"Er…right," agreed Harry, cringing internally. Even if Dean and Ginny broke up for some reason, he would still probably be punched by Ron for even thinking of Ginny in that way.

"Mum must be making breakfast, let's go back," said Ron, looking at the smoke beginning to rise from the chimney. Harry nodded, and together they traipsed across the frozen ground to the Burrow.

Mrs. Weasley, it transpired, was not making breakfast.

"Mum and the others went to Diagon Alley," said Ginny, shoveling toast out of the rack in the fireplace. Dean was sitting on the sofa with his arms crossed, and Harry noticed that Ginny's eyes looked redder than usual. Other than that, it could have been just another morning. After a few minutes of eating in silence, Ginny retired to her room.

"Chess, anyone?" Ron asked, looking at Dean and Harry. Dean shook his head, but Harry, desperate for a distraction, agreed. Ron went upstairs to get his set, and Harry was left alone with Dean, a consequence that he hadn't foreseen. After the consistency of the air had reached a point akin to Hagrid's treacle fudge, Harry cleared his throat.

"So….er….did you sleep well?" he asked feebly. Dean turned to him.

"Yeah, fine," he said. "How about you and Ginny?"

"Er…I slept fine, I dunno about her," Harry said, making the distinction as clear as he could. _Why was Ron taking so long_, he thought desperately.

"So I reckon Ginny told you all about last night," Dean said, smirking coldly.

"Actually, she didn't," said Harry, now feeling irritated. "She just asked if she could sleep on the other sofa. Ron told me," he added, feeling that it was pointless to lie.

"Oh, great, so she told the whole family," Dean snorted. Harry felt that he would quite like to hit him.

"No, Ron heard it through the wall. Apparently you didn't bother to keep your voice down while you were accusing her of cheating on you," Harry snapped. Dean stood up abruptly and left the room, brushing past Ron as he re-entered it with his chess set.

"What's with him?" Ron asked, indicating Dean's retreating figure with a jerk of his head.

"Stomachache," said Harry, unfolding the chess board and prodding a sleeping knight into position. They played for two hours or so, and by the time the rest of the Weasleys and Fleur returned, Harry was feeling hungry again. Ginny appeared around noon, and Mrs. Weasley made a delicious selection of sandwiches, which they happily ate while discussing their impending return to school. Harry felt ambivalent on the subject, for he was looking forward to escaping Dean's constant presence, but at the same time, returning to Hogwarts meant worrying about Malfoy, exams, and Snape all over again. Ginny and Ron were thoroughly opposed to the idea; Ginny had O.W.L.s coming up, and Ron simply didn't want to do any more work. Without Dean, the atmosphere seemed much more pleasant in the kitchen. Just as he had this thought, Mrs. Weasley asked the group at large if anyone had seen Dean, and she looked around worriedly.

"He's fine, mum, he had to write a letter," said Ginny, not meeting her mother's eyes.

"Oh, well in that case I'll bring some sandwiches up to him," said Mrs. Weasley.

"No, don't," said Ginny quickly. "I'll bring some later," she said.

"Well, alright then," Mrs. Weasley agreed grudgingly, bustling about the kitchen. "Don't forget, though. You boys are all so thin…"

"Writing a letter?" asked Ron. "I thought you said he felt sick."

"Er…he did. He's better now," said Harry, noting Mrs. Weasley's renewed look of concern.

"But why—ow!" Ron rubbed his shin, and Harry had the distinct impression that Ginny had kicked him under the table. Fred and George, seated across from them, rolled their eyes simultaneously.

"And Ginny," continued Mrs. Weasley, slicing bread, "Why did you sleep on the couch? There was an extra bed in with Fred, George, and Dean for you." Ginny reddened slightly.

"It was crowded," she said. "I couldn't sleep." Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.

"Hmm…well, ordinarily I would rather you be in a room with family, but I suppose, seeing as it's just Harry…" she said, distracted once more by the bread. Fred and George cracked identical smiles.

"You need to build up your reputation, mate," said George in a serious tone.

"Yeah," continued Fred, "When mothers feel perfectly comfortable leaving their only daughters alone with you at night, you need to reconsider your life choices." Harry threw a bit of lettuce at him. When lunch was finished, Mrs. Weasley asked Harry and Ginny to finish the dishes, as she wanted the others to help with present wrapping. The two of them talked a bit less than they ordinarily would have, but other than this, neither gave any indication that they had spoken the previous night. Harry scrubbed a pan filled with soap suds absentmindedly, still wondering if he should talk to Ginny about Dean. Maybe if—

_THWACK_

Harry jumped and raised the pan to defend himself, but only succeeded in dumping a load of soap on his head. Spluttering, he looked around for the source of the noise. Ginny, apparently not having noticed Harry's reaction, was opening the window to let in Errol, the bedraggled family post owl, who had hit the window. She untied the letter from his outstretched leg and sent him soaring feebly out the window again before turning back to Harry. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the sight of him, a beard of foam collecting on his chin, still clutching the frying pan.

"Harry…wha—" she burst out, incredulous, and then they both started laughing uncontrollably. Ginny seized a nearby soapy pot and crafted herself a spectacular beard to match Harry's, which only made them laugh harder.

"You look like some sort of weird midget version of Dumbledore," laughed Ginny, indicating the long beard and soapy hat that Harry still wore.

"I'd need a longer nose," said Harry, stealing some foam from her beard to place it on the tip of his nose. The nose drooped as he looked at her, grinning.

"And now you look like a deranged, bearded version of Snape…"

"More deranged than usual?" Harry asked, and they collapsed into laughter again, leaning on the kitchen counter. Someone cleared their throat from the doorway, and they looked up. Harry felt the smile slide from his face like the soap bubbles as he looked at Dean, whose mouth was set in a line.

"Don't let me spoil your fun," he said coldly, grabbing a sandwich from the plate and leaving again. Ginny made to follow him, but Harry shook his head.

"Let me deal with it," he said. She nodded, and turned back to the dishes. Harry caught Dean right before the staircase.

"Dean, we were just having fun," said Harry, who felt like rolling his eyes. "I'm allowed to have fun with her, she's my friend."

"Yeah, well, I'm tired of walking in on your 'fun' all over the house. Whatever is going on between the two of you, you'll be free to do it without me in the equation after I talk to Ginny later," he said, turning and striding up the stairs.

Half of Harry felt like throwing a party, but the other half felt sickened. Dean was going to break up with Ginny because of him. And she hadn't even done anything. Ginny would feel terrible. It would be Harry's fault, even though he was technically innocent.

"Dean, this is mental," he said furiously, wiping the last of the quivering soap beard from his chin. "You're being stupid about this."

"Oh, right, so I'm completely wrong in thinking that you and Ginny have feelings for each other. Don't even try to pull that, Harry. But you win. I'm leaving her, I'm done with this." He turned and stormed up the stairs. Harry had to make a split-second decision, but he did have time to wonder if he would come to regret it later.

"Dean!" he yelled.

—

AN/ Again, thank you for the reviews! I am glad that you guys are happy. The next chapter will be more angsty, but it should also relieve some of the angst for future chapters. Whirlwind of updates!


	6. Awkward Encounters of the Emotional Kind

Dean paused on the top stair, but didn't turn around. "Can I have a word with you, first?" Harry asked, his heart racing. Dean turned around slowly, his mouth set in a line, and a muscle in his jaw jumping. Harry didn't back down.

"Fine," said Dean shortly, walking back down the stairs. Harry looked around and, determining that they were alone for the moment, spoke to Dean in a quick, low voice.

"Look, what ever you do, don't break up with Ginny, okay?" he said fiercely. "Or if you have to, don't do it for the wrong reasons." Harry found that he was angrier than he had realized previously, and Dean looked just as furious.

"Oh yeah? Why not, Harry? Give me a good reason," he spat. Harry had never seen Dean seriously angry before, and he vaguely registered that if he hadn't been so angry himself, it might have been frightening.

"Because—because it's my fault, not hers!" Harry said, still trying to keep his voice down. Dean looked skeptical. "It's not Ginny's fault that—"

"That what? That she's sneaking around with you?" Dean remarked derisively.

"No! Damn it, she's not, it's not her fault—"

"That she's in love with you?" Dean asked, his voice dripping with anger and disdain. Harry exploded.

"No, it's not her bloody fault that _I'm_ in love with _her_," he roared, completely forgetting that they were indoors. Dean looked taken aback for a split second, but he still stared directly at Harry.

"Swear," he said. "_Swear _that she hasn't cheated on me."

"She hasn't," said Harry coldly, looking Dean directly in the eyes. "She's yours." And with that, Dean turned away and went back up the stairs. It was only then that Harry noticed the slender, red-haired girl standing shell-shocked in the hallway beside the staircase.

"Harry—I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I was just here and then—Harry, wait!" Ginny called after him as he strode across the room and out the door into the sparkling, frosty afternoon. He didn't know where he was going, but he needed to get away. He felt strange; an hour ago he would have died of embarrassment if Ginny had overheard him confessing his love for her. Now he felt strangely indifferent and cold. After a few minutes, Harry found himself in the orchard where he and the Weasley's played Quidditch in the summers. He turned to the broom shed, intending to borrow a broom—perhaps flying would distract him for a while. The problem was, he wasn't alone.

"I figured you would come here," said Ginny, who was leaning on the door of the shed with her arms crossed in front of her. Harry wheeled back around to head back to the Burrow.

"I'll just follow you," she said, a little impatiently. He resigned.

"How did you—"

"I grew up with Fred and George. I know shortcuts to places five feet in front of me."

"Right," he said moodily. "How did you know I would even be here?" Ginny hesitated.

"I know you, Harry," she said simply. "However," she paused again, and then spoke slowly, "I failed to notice that you were…"

"That I was in love with you," said Harry bluntly, not looking at her. Somehow it seemed much easier to say it now that she knew. "So you did hear that."

"Harry, you sort of screamed it at Dean…"

"Right." His head was starting to pound.

"For how long?" she asked, and even though he couldn't see her, he could feel her eyes on him.

"I don't know," he said honestly. He ran his hand from the back of his neck, all the way through his hair, and met her eyes at last. He couldn't read her expression. They stood in silence for a few minutes.

"Dean's a good guy, you know," said Ginny quietly. "He likes you, when he's not being a jealous prat." Harry exhaled sharply. He knew that Dean was a a good person, which made everything so much more irritating. If she had been dating Draco Malfoy or something….but no, he wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. Which, he thought, strangely enough, used to be Draco Malfoy. An odd mental image of Draco dancing with a copy of himself at the Yule Ball popped into his mind, and he forced it away. He needed to focus. Ginny was still looking at him.

"I have no reason to leave Dean, you know," she said, suddenly sounding a little defensive. "He hasn't done anything, really, and he obviously cares about me." Harry nodded stiffly.

"I wasn't expecting you to leave Dean," he said. "I didn't mean for you to even hear that."

"Oh, so what then, you were just going to take it to the grave?" she said, her temper definitely rising now. "I fancied you for more than _four_ years, Harry, and you finally decide that I'm worth liking back the second you can't have me. Well that's _brilliant_ logic on your part," she said, eyes blazing. Harry felt himself getting angrier, too.

"I never said you weren't _worth_ liking, I was just too stupid to see it!" he said, raising his voice. He couldn't see why she was angry about this, when he, Harry, was the one losing in this situation. Her eyebrows were traveling steadily up her forehead.

"Yeah, I reckon you were too stupid," she spat angrily.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you, Ginny," he said, throwing his hands up. "Yeah, I love you, yeah I missed my chance. I'm an idiot. Brilliant. It's done. Go back to Dean." He started pacing.

"Damn it, Harry, this isn't about Dean, this is about me! This isn't finished! You can't just walk around telling people that you love them and then casually brush it off," she said, sounding more exasperated than angry now.

"Oh, so that's what you think?" he said, letting out a snort of derision. "You think that I just don't care, when _actually,_ what's happening here is that I'm trying not to drag you into the completely mental mess I've made. Well, I'm sorry that I said anything," Harry said with venom. "I should have just, what was it, 'taken it to the grave with me,' right? Well, it's too late for that now, I suppose, but what with Voldemort slowly killing off everyone I care about, I reckon it's better you find out now, because waiting until I'm actually dead seems impractical. You have no _idea_ how much I care," he said, stopping his pacing to look her in the eye.

"You didn't even _want _me by your side at the ministry last spring. I'm not an equal to you, I'm just Ron's little sister!"

"Of course I didn't want you at the ministry," Harry yelled. "I didn't want anyone there! Not Ron, not Hermione—and she's better at spells than I am by far. You think that I like dragging my friends through hell every few months?"

"You're not alone, Harry."

"I_ am _alone_,_" he yelled. "Don't you understand? It's me, it's just me. No one else should be involved in this. Voldemort marked _me_, and now I've got to finish him before he gets me first. It's as simple as that. It will just be me at the end, so it might as well just be me now. It's less to lose."

"You're doing exactly what Voldemort wants you to do," said Ginny spitefully. "You're the best hope for the wizarding world, but you're going to destroy that if you keep pushing everyone away. If we don't have hope, we don't have anything. So while you're running around being all noble and self-sacrificing, think about the fact that it's _not_ just you and him."

"I'm not being—"

"Yes, you are." They stared at each other, fuming.

"So this is it, then," Harry said. "You think that I'm just a great prat running around, trying to save everyone by myself."

"No," said Ginny, shaking her head. "I think that you care far more than you're willing to admit, and I'm not going to stand by while you throw your life and friends away to bring down Voldemort. And I don't care if you hate me for saying this, because you need to hear it. Your mother didn't die for you to spend your entire life hell-bent on causing someone else's death. This isn't about the death of Voldemort, Harry, this is about the life of everything else, _you _included. He's already taken your parents, Sirius, and countless other people. You can't let him separate you from everyone who ever loved you!" She stormed past him in the direction of the Burrow, and Harry was left to wonder how their conversation had turned from his love life to the fate of the wizarding world.

—

AN/ Oh, the angst! The next chapter will be lighter, I promise. Poor Harry can only handle so much drama at one time. Thanks for reading!


	7. Harry Accidentally Moves On

"Dean always just _happens_ to be there at the worst times," Harry said with frustration. "First Fleur, then your brothers, and then the next day the the couch incident and then the kitchen…" he shook his head. "I'm not actually doing anything!" he burst out angrily.

"They say bad luck always comes in threes, mate," said Ron, nodding.

"Who says that?"

"I dunno, do I? _They_ do."

"That's all in groups of twos anyways," said Harry.

"Well, twos, then. The principle holds."

"No, it really doesn't…"

They were sitting in Ron's room on Christmas morning, a pile of wrapping paper surrounding them. Harry was sporting his new Weasley sweater, emblazoned with a large, golden snitch. He had already carefully disposed of a box of maggots from Kreacher, although he was tempted to leave some in Dean's cot. However, he had desisted, and ranted to Ron instead. By some miracle, it seemed that Ginny was the only member of the Weasley family who had been in the house at the time of Harry and Dean's argument, for the rest of the family was gathering wrapping supplies and decorations from the barn. Harry didn't particularly feel the need to tell his best friend that he had shouted about being in love with his sister, so he stuck to enumerating the number of unfortunate situations that Dean had been witness to in the past couple of days. Luckily, Ron was a very good audience, as he was feeling irritated towards Dean as well for accusing Ginny of cheating.

"I mean, what's Dean playing at, blaming her? You're like family, he should know that" said Ron, helping himself to a chocolate frog.

"Dunno," said Harry, rather untruthfully, looking at the snow collecting on the windowpanes.

"Reckon we should go downstairs?" asked Ron, looking around at the pile of wrapping paper.

"Yeah, sure," agreed Harry, and together they traipsed down the staircase. Minutes later, sitting at the brunch table, Harry and Ron rather wished that they had elected to remain upstairs. Fleur was once again gushing about her wedding plans to anyone who would listen, or, as was more truthfully the case, anyone who would pretend to listen.

"And what do you think about zis, 'Arry?" she asked Harry, who, rather alarmed at being asked his opinion, especially seeing as he had not heard a word of her query, stuttered.

"Er…sounds brilliant," he said, hoping that this would suffice. She beamed at him and he smiled back awkwardly, still having no clue what he had just agreed to, and hoping that it would not come back to haunt him later. Seconds later, it did.

"Gabrielle will be so delighted!" Fleur cooed, sweeping back her long hair. Apparently, Harry had just agreed to escort Fleur's sister to the wedding. The others, sensing exactly what had happened, wasted no time whatsoever in giving Harry hell about it.

"Will she wear a green dress, Fleur? To match Harry's eyes?" Fred asked, grinning at Harry, who scowled.

"Ah, Fred!" exclaimed Fleur. "Zis is a wonderful idea! I 'ave been wondering what color to make ze bridesmaids dresses, for I 'ave already realized zat Ginny would look 'orrible in pink, but green will complement 'er 'air, and Gabrielle of course looks lovely in any color." She beamed at the twins. Fred and George smiled at her, and Harry saw them bump fists covertly. Now sincerely wishing that he had not thrown out the maggots, Harry stabbed moodily at his plate as Dean and Ginny entered the kitchen together and sat down. Fleur immediately turned to Ginny to tell her about this latest development in the bridesmaid dresses, much to Ginny's veiled irritation.

"—Because of course pink would look 'orrible with your 'air,"

"Oh, of course," said Ginny, smiling widely, but looking like she would quite like to punch Fleur. Fleur beamed even more widely.

"And since 'Arry 'as agreed to escort Gabrielle," she smiled at Harry; Ginny stiffened slightly, and Dean looked up. "Everything will be just perfect!" She clasped her hands happily and helped herself to a bit of toast.

"I bet it will!" said Dean, suddenly looking extremely cheerful. Several people looked at him in alarm.

"Gotten over that stomachache then, Dean?" asked George, perhaps a little icily. Harry realized that if Ron had heard Dean and Ginny's row from next door, Fred and George had certainly heard it from the same room. Dean coughed slightly and spent a good deal of time spreading jam evenly on his toast.

The rest of the day was fairly pleasant, and once again, by late afternoon, Harry realized how often he underestimated Mrs. Weasley's cooking abilities. The second feast was even better than the first, and Harry had to stop himself halfway through his third helping of treacle tart. He felt that the Dursleys would not be quite so accommodating if Harry got a letter from Madam Pomfrey stating that he no longer fit his robes as they had been on the occasion when Dudley had received the same letter from the Smeltings nurse. After another low-burst fireworks display, this time in festive hues of green and red, the group trundled off to bed, feeling very warm and sleepy despite the cold temperatures. Harry tried not to stare at the empty couch across from him, because somehow that felt even more depressingly like stalking than watching Ginny sleep. Ginny had moved back in with Dean, Fred, and George, leaving Harry in the living room with his inner monologue once more.

_Well, you did ask Dean not to break up with her. Wish granted._

_Yeah well, they shouldn't break up, she didn't do anything wrong._

_Right._

_But he's a jealous prat…_

_Also true. _

_Maybe she _is_ dating him because he can draw well…_

_Don't start that again._

_Well, what other good qualities does he have, really? He doesn't even trust her!_

_He's a good person._

…_Who can draw well. _

_Brilliant. He can draw their wedding portrait and hang it beside you and Gabrielle's. Fleur'll be delighted. _

_Don't think that._

Harry rolled over and stared at the ceiling again. He tried to stop thinking about the events of the past days, but failed miserably in his attempts. _Why,_ he thought, _why did she have to hear him. _Now she thought that he had some mad sort of hero complex, and Dean was happier than ever. He massaged his closed eyelids with his hands and fell into an uneasy sleep.

—

AN/ You guys are so awesome, and so quick at reviewing! I am glad that I'm able to crank this out so fast; I find it really easy to write for Harry, and it's so much fun! They'll be headed back to Hogwarts soon, so we'll be meeting Hermione and the Slug Club as well, just to add to the mayhem. Hooray!


	8. The Titian Haired Damsel

The next few days passed with a combination of slightly awkward moments, good food, and, eventually, a packing frenzy. Neither Ginny, Dean, nor Harry had acknowledged that anything had happened, and Harry was quite keen to keep it that way. In fact, he thought, as he attempted to cram his Weasley sweater between the invisibility cloak and the Prince's potions book, maybe things would eventually go back to normal if they just ignored what had happened for long enough. As soon as he had this thought, he realized that it was insane, but it was, at least, a cheerful idea. As it was, he and Ginny hadn't spoken since what Harry now privately referred to as "the incident."

When all of their trunks were packed and by the fire, they lined up to head back to Hogwarts. Ron was rather irritable, as Pidwidgeon had been twittering and flying about madly in his cage for the greater part of the morning, and now into the late afternoon.

"I don't—know—what's gotten into him!" Ron snarled angrily, seizing the tiny owl and stuffing his beak with an owl treat. "He's way more annoying than usual, and that's saying something!" Harry shrugged, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Fred and George shaking with silent laughter in the corner. Once Ron had been hugged tightly by Mrs. Weasley and sent through the emerald fire, Harry turned to the twins and raised his eyebrows. Noting that Mrs. Weasley was busy fussing over Dean and Ginny, he walked over to them.

"So, er, what did you do to Ron's owl?" Harry asked.

"He may—"

"—Or may not"

"—Have signed up to test our newest product, Buoyancy BonBons," snickered Fred.

"Basically they help you stay awake, a burst of energy and all that,"

"But it seems like the smaller the person, or, I suppose, owl,"

"The more pronounced the effects."

"We sort of got the idea from your, shall we say, dinner _ex-pea-rience_," Fred said with a sanctimonious little nod in Harry's direction.

"Will it wear off?" asked Harry, grinning.

"Well, sure," said George.

"When? Unknown," added Fred. All three of them laughed.

"Harry, dear! It's your turn," called Mrs Weasley. He stepped forward, seized his trunk and Hedwig's cage (his snowy owl was out hunting, which, Harry thought, was probably a good thing given the state of Pigwidgeon), and with a last squeeze from Mrs. Weasley, stepped into the fire. After a few dizzying moments, he could make out the outline of Professor McGonagall's office through his ash-smeared glasses. With a brief, cordial hello, she sent him back to Gryffindor Tower with the new password: Scallywag. Harry traipsed up the stairs, his trunk thumping along beside him, but when he came to the portrait hole, it was to find Ginny and Dean still standing outside it. For a moment Harry thought that they were arguing with each other, but, after closer inspection, he realized that they were arguing with the portrait.

"We're Gryffindors. The password's Scallywag. Let us in!" Dean was saying, frustrated. His request fell on deaf ears, for the knight currently guarding the portrait, who Harry instantly recognized as Sir Cadogan, was adamant.

"I do not recognize you, rogue knave! Nor you, Titian-haired damsel!" Ginny's eyebrows shot up, and she glanced at Harry, who ignored her gaze. He strode up to the portrait, setting down his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Sir Cadogan turned to face this new threat to the security of the common room, but, upon recognizing Harry, bowed low, so that the visor of his helmet clanged shut over his face. Righting it, he turned back to Harry.

"Harry Potter! I trust that you will rid the castle of these scoundrels," he said, brandishing his overly large sword for emphasis.

"Er…they actually _are_ Gryffindors," he said, and the small knight looked affronted.

"I have never seen them before! I was entrusted with the defense of this bedchamber until such time as the drunken damsel who was previously charged with its protection sleeps off her mead. I shall not fail this quest by admitting miscreants and charlatans!" he yelled defiantly.

"They're er… spies for the kingdom," Harry said with exasperation, inventing wildly. "So you wouldn't have seen them before, would you?"

"Aha! I see. Very well then, you may enter. Your secret is safe with Sir Cadogan!" The portrait door swung open, and Harry, nonplussed, turned to Dean.

"He didn't even ask me the password…"

"Just go, before he locks us out again!" Harry didn't need telling twice, and he clambered through the portrait hole, stumbling a bit under the weight of his trunk. He set it down and steadied himself again, just in time to be knocked off balance by a girl with bushy, brown hair.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, releasing him. "Oh, it's so good to see you! Do you fancy a walk? I want to talk to you." She said all this very fast, and Harry noticed that Ginny caught her eye. His suspicions arose, but seeing as he had no excuse for not walking, he agreed. Ten minutes later, after arranging his belongings back by his four-poster in the sixth year boys' dormitory, he met Hermione back downstairs.

"How was your Christmas?" Harry asked her as she looped her Gryffindor scarf around her neck.

"Oh, you know, it was fine, really," Hermione said. "It's hard for everyone with muggle parents I suppose, because I keep wanting to tell them what is going on, but they won't understand it anyways, and I don't want them to worry." They had made it to the front doors of the castle, and Hermione pulled out her wand to melt a path in front of them as they walked.

"So…er…where are we going?" Harry asked.

"I have a spot that I go to think," said Hermione, "and if you tell Ron about it, I'll hex you, but that's another point entirely," she said huffily, and Harry could tell that her feelings towards Ron had not warmed over the break. They reached the greenhouses, and Hermione led Harry around the back of greenhouse three, which they had used in their second year. She opened a wooden door, and Harry found himself in a small but cozy room that smelled of earth and was populated by a variety of interesting plants and a shelf of books.

"It's a private study room" said Hermione in explanation. "Seventh years trying for N.E.W.T.s in herbology use it, but this one is the least nice of them, and as there's only a few high level herbology students anyways, I've never found anyone in here."

"And how did you find it?" asked Harry.

"Well, it has the most concentrated selection of N.E.W.T. level herbology books for reference, of course," said Hermione, as if this was an obvious fact. "But never mind that, we need to talk about you and Ginny!" She looked sympathetic, but Harry stared at a purple plant with rhythmically swaying fronds just past her left ear and did not answer.

"Oh come on, Harry, you can talk to me. Ginny feels _really _terrible, and you won't even speak to her!" Hermione appealed to him, and he sighed.

"I reckon she's not speaking to me either," he said, not bothering to ask how she had managed to talk to Ginny yet. _Women_...

"Have you ever thought that perhaps she wants to, but she doesn't know what to say?" Hermione asked.

"Right, because it's not like that's the exact same problem that I'm having," Harry grumbled irritably. "What am I supposed to say to her? She knows how I feel, and she still loves Dean. I'm moving on."

"Harry, don't be stupid!" Hermione said with exasperation. "People who are meant to be together don't always start out together."

"Since when do you believe in anything being 'meant to be?'" asked Harry with amusement. "Reconsidering divination?"

"No," she said defensively. "But people can be stupid about romance. _Especially_ boys," she said darkly. "If you still have feelings for her, don't pretend otherwise, or she'll end up dating some idiot, and you'll be forced to bring Romilda Vane to one of Slughorn's parties just to make her jealous, and you'll all be miserable!" Harry raised an eyebrow at her. He was now quite sure that this conversation wasn't purely about his relationship with Ginny.

"Sorry, are we talking about me or you, here?" he asked, confused.

"What?" she said sharply. "Of course we're talking about you, I don't know where you would get the impression that we weren't." He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.

"Right…well, no matter what I feel, there's a bit of a problem that you haven't really addressed. It's about six feet tall, and goes by the name of Dean."

"You are incredibly unobservant, Harry," said Hermione, rolling her eyes irritatingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. "D'you reckon I'm hallucinating him or—"

"Of course not. Do you remember Snape's talk about the killing curse in the last week of November?" she asked.

"Only because he made that comment about me surviving it by 'lucky' chance, but I reckon he was being sarcastic about the lucky part….wait. Hermione, you're not suggesting…." he scooted his stool back an inch. Hermione looked confused.

"Suggesting what?" she asked.

"You're not…er…you're not suggesting that I kill Dean or anything mental like that, are you?" Hermione stared at him, and then burst out laughing.

"Oh _honestly,_ Harry, of course not! I was asking if you remembered the lesson because Dean and Ginny had a loud row right outside after class." She suppressed another laugh with a cough.

"So?" said Harry, missing the point now.

"_So_, Harry, think about it. They've been having arguments like that for months now. It's not something _new_ that you've caused. Ginny's actually been thinking of breaking up with Dean for a while now, but she's never found the right time." Harry stared at her.

"How d'you know all of this?" he asked. "And don't say _'I read_,' because that's not—"

"This has nothing to do with books, Harry, although you could do to read a few muggle psychology books, and please, share them with Ronald. But no, in case you failed to notice, Ginny and I are actually good friends."

"Really? I've never really seen you—"

"Oh for goodness sake, Harry, I do exist after you and Ron go to the boy's dormitory. Ginny is a really interesting girl—"

"You don't say."

"—And we talk," she said, eyeing him darkly for the interruption. Harry grimaced in apology.

"So, what this comes down to, is….do you honestly think that I have a chance with Ginny?" Harry asked. Hermione rolled her eyes again. She did that a lot, he noticed. Maybe even more than Ginny.

"Harry, have you heard nothing of what I just said?" she asked in a very condescending tone.

"Well, yeah, but girls have this habit of—" He twisted his hands together in the air for emphasis "—muddling things with facts until boys don't understand them at all." She snorted.

"Well, all—" She attempted to imitate the 'muddling' hand gesture "—'muddling' aside, yes. A very good chance, actually, if you don't do anything stupid."

_Great,_ thought Harry. His track record in the previous days alone qualified him for that title more than once. They sat in the cozy room for a moment more, before the door opened from the outside.

"Oh! Hey Harry, Hermione," said Neville Longbottom, clutching what Harry recognized as his _Mimbulus Mimbletonia, _a stunted, cactus-like plant with a penchant for shooting steaming jets of foul goo. Harry, who had had experience with this before, and Hermione, clearly recognizing the plant from her studies, eyed it warily.

"Hi, Neville," they said, standing up.

"Oh no, that's alright, you can stay if you want," said Neville, brandishing the pulsating plant at them. "I reckon it's time to graft from it again, but I won't be long."

"Er, no, that's fine, Neville. We were just leaving, actually!" Harry pulled Hermione towards the door.

"Oh, okay then! Say hi to Ron for me," he said, waving cheerily. Harry agreed to, but Hermione was silent. They trudged back to the castle, holding their cloaks against the chill wind that had picked up since their last trek across the grounds, and re-entered the warm foyer. It was clearly around dinner time, as students were filing into the foyer and Great Hall from all around them.

_Okay,_ Harry thought to himself, as he watched Ginny approach with Dean. _Don't do anything stupid._


	9. The Dark Lord in Fiji

Harry, however, did not have the chance to either prove nor disprove his stupidity, for Ginny and Dean sat sandwiched between Seamus and Parvati, leaving room for only one of them. Feeling an odd mixture of relief and disappointment, Harry followed Hermione to a spot further down the Gryffindor table, where they ate in companionable silence. Harry had the feeling that Hermione was pointedly avoiding looking up, as Ron had entered the Great Hall and sat in the open space beside Dean.

"Hermione, maybe if you talked to Ron—"

"No," she said hotly, cutting a piece of roast beef with unnecessary force. Harry dropped the subject.

"Hi, Harry!" came a voice. Harry looked across the table to see Colin Creevey, a mousy-haired fifth year boy, grinning at him.

"Hi, Colin," said Harry, taking some heart in the fact that Colin did not, at least, have a camera with him today.

"I'm supposed to give this to both of you," he said, handing Harry and Hermione each a fancy scroll, which was instantly recognizable as an invitation to one of Slughorn's parties. Harry groaned.

"Thanks, Colin," he said gloomily as the boy left. He chanced a glance at the staff table, where Slughorn appeared to be deep in conversation with Professor Sinistra.

"I suppose we'll have to go, won't we?" said Hermione, frowning. She did not seem at all enthusiastic, which Harry accredited to her experience with McLaggen at the last party.

"Reckon so," said Harry, contemplating the date of the party, January 6th. "That's this Saturday…I could schedule an emergency Quidditch practice," he said. But Hermione wasn't listening.

"Oh no, oh no!" she said under her breath frantically, looking down the table. Harry followed her gaze to, Cormac McLaggen, who was quickly approaching them with a swagger in his step and one of the scrolls in hand.

"Hermione," he said by way of greeting, nodding his head once in an annoying fashion. Hermione smiled weakly at him.

"Hi Cormac. Good holiday?" she asked, her voice rather higher than usual. McLaggen smiled at her, seeming to take her distress as a sign of attraction.

"Ah, tiring, very tiring, what with all the hunting and hiking" he said, massaging his shoulder as if to demonstrate this. It took some effort for Harry to return his eyebrows to their normal height. McLaggen did not ask how Hermione's holiday was, but instead continued. "I just came to confirm that we'll be going to old Sluggy's party together again," he said confidently. Hermione blanched.

"Oh…um…I'm really sorry, but someone's already asked me," she said. Harry fought the urge to grin, wondering how she was going to get out of this one.

"Who?" demanded McLaggen. "The invite's only been out for five minutes."

"Oh!" Harry felt Hermione seize his hand. "Harry, actually!'

"What? Oh, er… yeah," said Harry, making a mental note to murder Hermione. McLaggen looked outraged as he stormed away to sit in the empty seat across from Ron. Harry watched him go, and then rounded on Hermione.

"I'm sorry!" she said before he could speak. "But what was I supposed to do? I simply can't go with him again," she said desperately, and Harry, seeing the truth in her words, dropped the matter with a shrug. They finished eating and were halfway towards the entrance to the foyer when Ron called out to Harry from the table. Hermione did not stop, but instead brushed past Harry and out of the hall. Ron watched her go moodily, and then continued.

"Ginny says there's another Slug Club party this Saturday, so we were wondering if there would be Quidditch practice." He sounded hopeful, and Harry knew that Ron had become accustomed to Harry scheduling Quidditch practices to conflict with Slughorn's parties. This served the double purpose of giving everyone in the Slug Club an excuse to decline the invitations, as well as making Ron feel included. Harry paused.

"Er…actually," he said slowly, willing himself not to turn red. He glanced below him at the top of Ginny's head. Then, to Harry's horror, McLaggen took it upon himself to intervene.

"Potter's going to the party," he said, glaring at Harry. "I was going to take Granger, but he decided that he'd ask her first." There was a clatter as Ron's knife slipped, buttering the tip of his thumb. He ignored it.

"But you're going as friends, right?" Ron asked, incredulous. Harry opened his mouth to answer, but was once again cut off by McLaggen.

"Well, she made a great show of holding his hand, so I'd say not," he scoffed, rising from the table and leaving.

"Ron—" said Harry, but Ron was already striding out of the hall. Irritated, Harry dropped into an empty seat and put his head in his hands. He suddenly felt exhausted, and had no desire to go back to the common room. The table was unnaturally silent. Harry looked up to see Dean, Ginny, Seamus, and Parvati all staring at him from down the table.

"Of course we're going as friends," he said with great annoyance. "McLaggen turned up out of nowhere, and he's a git, so Hermione pretended that I'd already asked her. Seeing as neither of us has anyone to go with anyways." Ginny looked down at her plate, and Harry wondered morosely whether this counted as stupidity or not. He spooned pudding onto the plate in front of him and picked at it, buying time until he would have to return to the common room, which would most likely contain both Ron and Cormac.

"We should just lock them in a room together," mused Dean, and Harry was puzzled.

"Ron and McLaggen? Yeah, that would end well…"

"No, Ron and Hermione. Make them work out all of their damn love problems. It gives me a headache," Dean said, and Harry nodded fervently over his pudding. As odd as it seemed for his two best friends to be together, it also seemed inevitable at this point.

"Women," said Seamus, grinning at Harry, who snorted and tried very hard not to look at Ginny.

"It's not _women_," said Ginny with irritation. "Stop blaming us — Dean, I can scoop my own damn pudding — stop blaming us for all of your problems." She grabbed the pudding spoon from Dean, who had been ladling the dessert onto her plate.

"Sorry," he grumbled, looking at Seamus.

"So, how was _your_ holiday, Harry?" asked Seamus, raising his eyebrows.

_It was extremely awkward, thank you for asking._

"Good, thanks," he said, grimacing.

"What did you lot do at Ron's, then?" Seamus continued.

_Well, I made a soap beard, confessed my undying love for Ron's sister, and attacked everyone with peas. You?_

"Mostly we just ate and talked, I reckon," Harry said, avoiding Dean's eye. "What did you do?"

"Stayed holed up with me mam for hours at a time," Seamus said, rolling his eyes. "She reckons it's unsafe to leave the house."

"My parents are the same," said Parvati. "But it worked out nicely for us; they took me and Padma to Fiji at the last minute!" She showed them the shell bracelet adorning her arm.

"Why Fiji, of all places?" asked Ginny curiously.

"Dad said that they couldn't really see you-know-who in Fiji," said Parvati, shrugging. Harry privately agreed; it was difficult to picture Voldemort strolling down a beach, although he amused himself with imagining it for a moment, grinning.

"What, Harry?" asked Dean, eyeing him warily.

"I imagine he's trying to picture Voldemort in Fiji, too," said Ginny. "Oh for heaven't sake, Dean." There had been a flurry of uncomfortable sounds and movement around the table as everyone reacted to her use of Voldemort's name. Harry caught Ginny's eye for the first time in a week, feeling considerably lighter. In fact, by the time that Neville entered the hall, clutching the _Mimbulus Mimbletonia _and dripping with green goo, Harry was feeling quite cheerful, which was partly due to the fact that his pudding was very good, but it also had a great deal to do with the small arguments that Ginny and Dean seemed to be having over a variety of subjects. Hermione seemed to be right about their relationship, Harry thought cheerfully as he dodged Neville and made his way up the marble staircase to the floors above. A small part of him felt bad for feeling happy, but this emotion confused him too much, so he set it aside. Besides, he thought, if Hermione was helping him, it had to be for the best. He had reached the portrait hole, where the Fat Lady seemed to have been reinstated. She hiccuped weakly and stared at him with slightly bleary eyes.

"Scallywag," Harry said, and she raised her fist, alarming him.

"Indeed he—hic—he is!" said the Fat Lady as the portrait swung forward to admit him. Harry climbed through into the common room, her mutterings about Sir Cadogan fading away behind him. Harry decided that he should probably clear things up with Ron before they got worse, and set off to find him. He didn't have to look far, for Ron, it transpired, was sitting in an armchair fifteen feet away. He stood up when Harry approached, but Harry started speaking quickly.

"Listen, Ron, it's not what you th—"

"I know, mate," he said, grinning. Harry was nonplussed. Ron had stormed out of the Great Hall not twenty minutes ago, and yet he seemed perfectly cheerful now. Knowing that it was not Ron's nature to suddenly overcome a grudge, he persisted.

"We're going as friends," he said firmly, and Ron nodded.

"Yeah, I know. Hermione told me," he said. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"You two are speaking again, then?" he asked, and Ron grinned still more widely.

"Yeah, I reckon so," he said.

"Good," said Harry, relieved that he was no longer in the awkward position of mediator. The two of them sat down and then turned to the rather alarming pile of homework that they had left for the end of break, pausing only here and there to insult Snape's essay on counterjinxes, and then, by the time that this topic had been thoroughly abused, Snape himself. When they both trundled up to bed after midnight, Harry collapsed, exhausted, and for the first time in several weeks, did not lie awake thinking of Dean and Ginny.

—

AN: Hi guys! I'm sorry that this chapter took forever; I have been very busy! But the updates should be coming much more frequently now, my apologies! Get ready for Slughorn's party!


	10. Mince, Pince, and Prince

"Counterjinxes," said Snape quietly on Friday morning, "as so many of you clearly know nothing about, given the quality of your essays, are your best defense against minor jinxes, _however_, should you find yourselves faced with a more _dangerous_ spell, they will do you little good." His dark eyes swept over the silent class as they copied down this information. "For these spells, you will need to learn not only defensive, but offensive attacks," he continued, but Harry was finding it difficult to listen. The amount of sleep that he had accumulated over this week was probably equivalent to what the average person required in a night. This was due to the pile of assignments that miraculously seemed to be accumulating as fast as he could complete them. Ron felt the same way, but Hermione, predictably, took another stance.

"Well, if you had used your homework planners, you wouldn't have this problem," she said that day at lunch, helping herself to a turkey sandwich. She was referring, Harry knew, to the Christmas present that she had given each of them last year: a homework planner that gave what were intended to be inspiring phrases related to timeliness. Harry was fairly certain that his was still under the loose floorboard under his bed at Privet Drive, along with the _Monster Book of Monsters_.

"Yes we would," said Ron, putting down his goblet of pumpkin juice. "We'd just have yet another person telling us that they were late." Harry grinned and reached for a slice of mince pie. He and Ron had vowed to catch up on their homework this weekend so as to avoid another week like the current one. This would have to be put on hold on Saturday, however, so that Harry could attend Slughorn's party with Hermione. At this point, it seemed that every Gryffindor with the exception of McLaggen knew that Harry and Hermione were not actually dating. No one seemed very keen to fill him in, however. This supposed love triangle had also brought another unexpected benefit: Lavender Brown was no longer hostile towards Hermione, which Harry commented on during potions later that day.

"Yeah, well, I reckon she thinks that between you and McLaggen, Hermione won't be going after me," Ron muttered, adding basil to his cauldron. He glanced towards Hermione at the neighboring table. "Not that she'd be going after me anyways, obviously, but Lavender thinks—"

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, deciding not to inform Ron that Lavender's suspicions were, in fact, echoed by almost the entirety of the Gryffindor house, including himself. He bent over his own simmering Curiosity Concoction, which was a pleasant shade of mint green. This particular potion, as Slughorn had explained, would provoke anyone it was given to into a bout of strong interest in the person who had slipped it to them. Its impact was similar to a love potion, but without the amorous side effects. Thus, Slughorn had explained, it would be unwise to give any Curiosity Concoction to an enemy, as they would become highly suspicious, obsessive, and very good at uncovering information.

"I wonder if I could get Malfoy to slip me some," said Harry quietly, squinting to read the Prince's rewritten instructions. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Harry, mate, you don't _need_ any of this to be highly suspicious and obsessive about Malfoy," he said, now trickling a few drops of salamander blood into his cauldron. "Is it supposed to turn purple?" he asked nervously, consulting his own book.

"Er…I don't think so," said Harry, who's own potion had remained the same color of green after he added the blood. "But I'm right about Malfoy, he's up to something, and I'm definitely not very good at 'uncovering information'" he said, glancing across the dungeon to where Malfoy was stirring his potion. Ron shrugged and said no more.

"And once again, you show your mother's talent!" said Slughorn with delight as he passed by Harry's cauldron half an hour later. "Although," he said jovially, "judging by the talk I've been hearing in the corridors about you, you certainly don't need the interest of any more young ladies!" Harry glanced at Ron, and Slughorn continued, waggling his eyebrows. "So which lucky girl will you be taking to my little get-together, then?" he asked. Harry cleared his throat.

"Oh, er, actually, I'm taking Hermione," he said, looking over at her.

"Ah, wonderful! Keeping it in the club, then, shall we say," he chortled, cuffing them each on the shoulder, and Hermione and Harry both grimaced. All in all, they were glad to exit the dungeons at the end of class.

"Mad, isn't he?" said Ron as they trudged up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. Upon reaching the Fat Lady, however, the portrait swung open and several people clambered out.

"I wouldn't go in there, if I were you," said Katie Bell, and Parvati, who was next to her, shook her head in agreement.

"Why not?" asked Ron, but his question was quickly answered for him by noise from within the common room.

"—Always doing things like that, as if I can't do anything for myself!" Harry heard Ginny yell loudly.

"I'm just trying to be _helpful!" _Dean shouted back. "Is that a crime now?"

"I don't need your help, Dean, I can help myself!"

"Sorry for showing human decency, then!"

"Sorry for not being the girl who needs you to put your cloak over puddles before I step in them!" Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked at each other. Harry felt the bizarre urge to grin, but decided that this would lead to awkward questions, and therefore desisted.

"Shall we go to the library, then?" asked Hermione, and they quickly agreed. Usually this was not an enjoyable activity, but Harry felt that he should probably get started on his homework before he had to spend another week listening to Snape make snide comments about his tired and vacant expression. _(You are cut from the same mold as your father, Potter, staring into space, expecting others to fill in the gaping holes in your knowledge later.) _They made their way to the library, all avoiding the topic of Dean and Ginny's shouting match. Harry found that he was able to get through his work at a much faster pace than usual, which probably had something to do with his buoyant mood. At half past seven, the vulture-like Madam Pince appeared suddenly and with alarming stealth to inform them that the library would close in half an hour.

"Scary, that one," Ron said, shaking his head as the librarian retreated into the shadows. "I swear, she makes me feel like I'm insulting her precious books by breathing on them." Just then, another noise put them on the alert.

"Brilliant, she heard you," whispered Harry. He tried his best to look studious and respectful of his transfiguration textbook as the footfalls came closer. However, to Harry's surprise, it was not Madam Pince who came around the corner, but Ginny. She looked startled to see them there, and turned on her heel to leave. Harry noticed that her eyes were red.

"Oi! Ginny, where are you going?" Ron hissed, confused. Ginny turned around, not meeting his eyes.

"Oh, well, the common room was a bit crowded, and I needed somewhere to read," she said.

"Come here," said Hermione, closing her books and going to meet Ginny. The two of them disappeared into the darkness.

"Er…" said Harry, looking at Ron.

"I dunno," said Ron, shaking his head. He closed his book and leaned back all the way in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. "It's a girl thing, I reckon." Harry shrugged and closed his books as well. Now that he was distracted, it seemed pointless to continue. The two of them waited for Hermione to return, but it was not until five minutes to eight that she did. Ginny was not with her.

"What were you doing?" Ron asked as they gathered up their books and made their way to the door.

"She needed someone to talk to," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "She'll be fine."

"Was it about her and Dean?" asked Harry, attempting to keep the interest out of his voice. He knew that Hermione would see right through this, but he figured that it was probably best for Ron to stay in the dark.

"Yes," said Hermione, narrowing her eyes at him. "They're still together, for now at least", she said, sparing him the necessity of finding a covert way to ask that particular question. They had reached the doors of the library, where Madam Pince was waiting, lantern and wand in hand. She watched them beadily as they skirted past her and through the open door, and then locked it behind them.

"She just locked herself in! See, I told you, she's bloody mental," said Ron fervently, looking between the two of them.

"What?" said Harry, who hand't been paying attention.

"No, Ron, her quarters are just off the library," said Hermione in exasperation.

"Oh…right…" said Ron thoughtfully. They all found that they were very tired after reaching the common room, and only played a few games of exploding snap. They said goodnight to Hermione at around nine, and then retired to their separate dormitories. Harry changed into his pajamas, grateful that he would be able to get a good night's sleep without having to wake up for anything in the morning; Slughorn's party was not until six.

_And Ginny and Dean had a row, _he thought, grinning into his pillow as he drifted off to sleep. Hermione might be irritating sometimes, but for once, Harry was very glad that her reputation of always being right was holding true.

Despite having intended to sleep late, Harry found himself awake early on Saturday morning, feeling fully rested. He could see the sleeping forms of the other sixth year boys in their beds, so he slipped out of his four-poster, dressed quietly, shouldered his Firebolt, and headed down to the Great Hall. It was almost empty but for Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones, who waved merrily to him as he walked to the Gryffindor table. Grabbing some toast, Harry strode out of the Great Hall, through the entrance hall, and out the giant oak doors to the frosty grounds. His breath exited in puffs, but the temperature was not at all unpleasant. Looking down the sloping lawns, Harry could make out the distant figure of Hagrid, who seemed to be building a small bonfire outside for himself and Buckbeak. Harry had the urge to go and visit him, but he knew that Ron and Hermione would be upset if he didn't include them, so he continued on towards the Quidditch pitch. It was blissfully empty, and Harry, feeling no need to hurry, sat on one of the team benches and contentedly finished his toast before mounting the Firebolt and kicking off from the ground. He soared joyfully around the pitch for a few minutes, looping in and out of the goal hoops, skirting the stands, and even practicing the Wronski Feint a few times. Harry pulled out of a particularly well-executed dive, feeling exhilarated, and paused, hovering a few feet above the ground on the edge of the field for a moment.

"Nice one," called a voice from behind him, almost causing him to fall off of his broom. He wheeled around to see Ginny, holding her own broom, standing just outside the exit to the Gryffindor locker room. Sincerely glad now that he had managed to remain on the Firebolt, he touched back down and walked to meet her.

"Hey," he said cautiously. . It was the first time that they had been alone together since the orchard at the Burrow.

"I was hoping that I'd find you here," she said, and curiosity got the best of him.

"Oh. I er….I sort of got the impression that you were avoiding me, actually," he said, running his hand through his hair. She grimaced.

"Well, I need to talk to you," she said. "I don't want us to have to stop talking altogether just because I'm with someone," she said. "It's stupid. We're friends, and, honestly, we both have enough drama in our lives without this, too.

"Right," said Harry, not really sure what he was agreeing to.

"Unless you don't want to be friends, obviously," said Ginny, biting her lip. Half of Harry wanted to tell her that no, she had missed her chance. _Don't do anything stupid,_ said Hermione's voice in his head.

"'Course we can be friends," Harry said with an attempt at bravado. She wasn't fooled.

"Look, Harry, I'm so sorry," Ginny said, and she truly looked it.

"Let's just not talk about it," Harry said quickly. She took a deep breath.

"Are you flying any more?" she asked.

"No, I was about to go and find Ron and Hermione," he said, looking up at the castle.

"Okay," said Ginny. "I'll see you at Slughorn's party, then?"

"Yeah," said Harry, shouldering the Firebolt and heading towards the caste. "Bye!"

"Bye…"

Harry found Ron and Hermione at the breakfast table, and, sitting down next to Ron, he helped himself to some bacon and eggs.

"We wondered where you'd got to," said Ron, looking at the broomstick that Harry carried.

"Yeah, I reckoned I'd do a bit of flying," Harry said as Seamus sat down on his left. Dean approached the long table from the other side and sat across from the four of them.

"Anyone seen Ginny?" he asked moodily. Ron and Hermione shook their heads, Hermione rather absentmindedly, as she was reading her copy of _Advanced Potion Making, _which was propped open on a jug of pumpkin juice. Harry cleared his throat.

"She was down by the Quidditch pitch a few minutes ago, he said, in what he hoped was an offhand voice. Hermione's eyes flickered between Harry and Dean as Dean clenched his jaw and pointedly avoided looking at Harry. Dean grabbed a bit of toast and then left the Great Hall, leaving a very confused Seamus in his wake.

"I reckon he's tense, lately," said Ron, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. "Bet it's something between him and Ginny." He nodded wisely at Hermione, who looked politely incredulous. Once Ron had gone back to devouring his food, Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry. The rest of the meal passed without much conversation, and after a time, Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to the common room, while Seamus went to find Dean. Feeling oddly productive, Harry spent the rest of the morning and into the late afternoon finishing his assignments, much to Hermione's approval. At around four, the three of them sat in their favorite armchairs in the common room, Harry and Hermione helping Ron to struggle through McGonagall's essay on animagi. When Ron disappeared for a few minutes to search for a new ink bottle, Harry rounded on Hermione.

"So," he said. "Not that I'm complaining, but why are you two speaking again?" he asked. She sighed, and gave no answer. "Hermione…"

"Oh, all right then. I apologized," she said, turning faintly scarlet. "It's a lot of effort to stay angry with him, and I have studies to focus on," Hermione said. Harry laughed at this exceedingly logical answer. Ron returned seconds later, and they fell silent once more. At around five-thirty, Hermione announced that she needed to prepare for the party, and left for the girls' dormitories. Harry, who didn't have much preparing to do, kept Ron company for another quarter of an hour before going to change into his bottle green dress robes. He met Hermione, looking very pretty in dress robes of pale purple, in the common room at ten minutes to six, where they said goodbye to Ron and then set off.

Once more, Slughorn's office was dimly lit, but brilliant all the same. Jars of live faeries hovered above their heads as they mingled with the crowd. Harry was amused to see McLaggen with Romilda Vane, both of whom glared at him and Hermione as they passed. Harry was equally surprised, and yet much happier, to see Luna standing with Neville.

"Hi," he said conversationally, looking at the pair of them. "I thought—"

"Oh, Professor Slughorn doesn't believe that either of us have the talent to be in his club, but he thought that my knowledge of rare creatures was fascinating, so he invited, me, and I brought Neville," said Luna, displaying her uncomfortable honesty once more.

"Er…great!" said Harry, taking in her robes, which were an almost blinding shade of lime green.

"Yes, isn't it?" Luna said mildly, and Harry, grinning at Neville, bid the two of them goodbye to seek out Hermione again. As he rejoined her, his eyes swept the party, looking for Ginny.

"She's not here yet," said Hermione, interpreting his glances correctly. He grimaced apologetically at her.

The rest of the evening passed rather enjoyably, but, to the confusion of Harry, and eventually Hermione as well, neither Ginny nor Dean ever arrived.

"Yes, I suppose it is odd," said Hermione, frowning, after Harry had voiced his concerns for the umpteenth time on their way back to the common room. "Ginny told me specifically that she would see me here not two hours ago." As they neared the portrait hole, Harry felt a twist of anxiety in his stomach. Horrible images of Ginny lying unconscious in the hospital wing flashed before his eyes. Thus, it was surprising to him that when he entered the portrait hole with Hermione, the first person that he saw was none other than Ginny herself. She was alone, curled on the sofa, reading a book. Crookshanks, Hermione's fluffy, ginger cat, was perched ceremoniously on her feet. It would have been a rather funny image, if Harry hadn't been so worried.

"Where were you?" he asked, in a more accusatory manner than he had intended. Hermione glanced at him.

"I didn't feel like going," Ginny said, raising her eyebrows at him. "Although I suppose that I should be reporting my every plan and acquaintance to you as well, should I?"

"I was just wondering—" started Harry, but she cut him off cooly.

"Don't." She snapped her book shut, and walked briskly up to the girls' dormitory, leaving a rather offended Crookshanks in her wake. Harry turned to Hermione.

"What did I possibly do that time?" he asked miserably.

"Well, you did sort of interrogate her," she said wearily. "Although I suspect that this has little to do with you."

"What d'you mean, I'm the one she's mad at…"

"Oh, Harry, do you ever _listen_?" asked Hermione with exasperation. "She said 'to you as well.' You saw Dean at breakfast this morning when you told him that you'd seen her. He probably said something to her about you. She's tired of Dean thinking that she's running around behind his back all the time, so it's natural that she's defensive." Harry nodded, his brows furrowed. Girls were becoming far too complicated for his liking.

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AN: I just wanted to let you guys know that I appreciate each and every review so very much! They really are lovely, and I'm so glad to hear what you all think. Thank you for reading!


	11. Author's Note, Please Read!

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Hi guys! I just wanted to say that honestly, I hated the last chapter as much as you did, so I just deleted it, and I'm writing it again. I've kind of backed myself into a corner trying to finish this before I move to college in a few days, but it's not worth forcing it, so at the risk of slower updates, I'm going to give you a better story. I posted it knowing that it wasn't where I wanted it to go, which I shouldn't have done, and I am sorry! I'll update as soon as I can. Thank you for your reviews!


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